Sentimental Molly
by rosannalaufeyson
Summary: Molly's caught in the drab monotony of everyday life. She doesn't know that things are about to change.
1. Sentimental Molly

Please note: This is my first fanfiction ever, English is not my mother tongue and this hasn't been beta'd so please ignore spelling errors or grammatical mistakes and if you don't like my writing style - well okay then, I'm trying to improve! :)

Molly lent back and took a deep breath. It had been a busy day in the morgue and now she felt exhausted as never before. Sherlock rushing through the lab and telling her what to do had had its effect on her as well. But even though her body ached and somehow begged for rest her mind kept on spinning. She'd already turned on the telly, snuggling into the cushions and with Toby, her red-haired cat, purring in her lap, but eventually she spent most of the time switching through the channels as opposed to really paying attention to it. On top of that she felt too weary to continue reading the new book she borrowed from her best friend. Maybe her mind just needed a much simpler distraction? She shooed the remonstrating Toby away from her lap and stood up to look around. Her flat was a mess, as always. While she's always been striving to keep everything in the lab clean and neat (which she did because whenever Sherlock came to experiment with something she'd anyhow have to rearrange everything again), her own home looked as if someone's been rummaging her belongings. Molly let out a heavy sigh.

She then made herself a cup of tea. Now that should help ,she told herself. Instead, the hot water burned her tongue and lips. A tirade of unpleasant swears followed. That's when she knew she wouldn't calm down that easily tonight. Usually, she could cut back on Sherlock's rudeness...however not today.

Molly sat down at the kitchen table, her head resting in her hands, the still steaming tea right next to her, staring into the air. Toby was softly rubbing his head on her shin bone, Molly's hand reached down to pet him but her mind was miles away.

After a while of daydreaming Molly came to the conclusion that sitting about was not a good way to spend her Friday evening either, so she began to tidy up the kitchen. When she was done with the dishes she returned to the living room. Arms akimbo, her eyes ran over the pile of dirty clothes next to the sofa, the empty pizzabox on the coffee table and all her other belongings scattered over the floor like the pieces of a puzzle. She blew away a strand of hair and whispered to herself: That mess will take me the whole bloody night. Then, as if objecting herself she muttered: Well it won't get better if I don't start at some point, right?And I don't have anything else to do at the moment...

Molly bit her lip. No she said, I got nothing to do every weekend, to be precise. She sighed quietly and immediatly felt turned down when thinking about her life. Nothing ever happened. When she first met Sherlock it seemed that now her life would alter, that she could finally prove herself worthy. She's never had much self esteem as a teenager and that didn't change for a long time – but with Sherlock she felt like she could climb mountains and go on the wildest adventures and...and... do something special. That was when her crush on him was still very recent though now it has only become routine and she recognised her life was just as dull as it has always been.

Oh stop that, Molly said, louder than intended. She's been sentimental very often over the last while. A deep sadness took over her, so she did what she was always doing in such situations: To seek refuge in activity.


	2. Curiosity killed the cat

**Note: This took me a bit and I still don't know if that's what I wanted when I began to write this chapter but whatever...**

**Molly eventually realizes she has to start _living_ again. #YOLO (just kidding.)**

**Mycroft will (if things work out the way I want them to) appear for the first time in the next update. I hope you have the patience to be stuck up with this story for a while. I don't know where this whole thing is going, it somehow already developed a life of its own.**

**I'm dreadfully sorry for any spelling mistakes and stuff (though I hope there aren't as many) ._.**

It was past midnight when Molly had finally managed to jam her clothes into the washer, to put the rubbish out and all the other remaining things back to where they belonged. When she had been halfway through adjusting everything, she'd found an old photo album in the bottom drawer, right where all _those_ belongings went that she almost never searched for.

The front cover had seen better days and some pages seemed loose. Molly couldn't remember when it had been the last time she'd taken photos on a family celebration. It might also contain photos of their last holiday as a family -who knows?

Molly was stroking over the cover mindlessly. It was designed in a nice chocolate brown shade, a golden-hued calligraphic ornament embellished the whole cover. Classical composition with no frills, Molly wasn't that much of a fan of too much colour and flamboyant features.

Extravagance might be something that many people she knew loved (Sherlock was the first one that came to her mind) but from her point of view that was simply a way to present oneself without having done anything in particular that could be seen as somehow important or at least...well - _special_...

And if that wasn't the case it was barely attracting notice which enabled the person to undergo the sensation of one's own significance or to create the impression of superiority. Sherlock.

_Sherlock_.

Considering himself superior to everyone else. Molly didn't even try fighting away the tears of anger and frustration that flooded her eyes. How many times has she told herself she'd been over him? It didn't feel like love anymore, her knees weren't wobbly when he was around and her throat never went dry when he was addressing her. There wasn't the slightest warm sensation in her stomach. But why was she still crying over him? Why did it still hurt to reflect everything that had happened?

Yes he had told her she counted. But then he disappeared, popped out of her life for two years. She's been waiting **two bloody years** for a sign, a message, just something to tell her he's doing well. But no news until he suddenly arose from the dead. And the worst thing was – she read about it in the newspaper.

In a flash her thoughts focussed on the album again. _It might not be the best idea_, sleepy and exhausted as she was, moreover now infuriated and sad as well, _to study pictures that only portray the past_. she considered. But she desperately wanted to have a look at her younger self, the Molly she was when her father was still hale and hearty, the Molly not knowing that life wasn't at all playing the game in a fair manner. They would still be a family in those photos.

But that was long ago, she didn't even know why she actually kept that old gizmo, it wasn't even worth the life of a dust catcher in the drawer of her unsteady bureau. She should throw it away, try to live in the here and now.

_Curiousity killed the cat._ was what crossed her mind next. Her father had loved to say that. Molly chuckled at that thought as she remembered how the look on his face would soften his all too often dark expressions; and how the laughter would clear the lines the ilness had left on him over the years of therapy.

She finally opened it, dust was raising and she fought back a coughing bout. Molly was inevitably snoopy but with a vague feeling of trepidation, with only one question on her mind.

_How much time has passed since then?_

It turned out to be a photo album of Molly when she was about 13 or 14. Molly eyed her younger self. _Oh look at that. So definetly me..._ she murmured. There she was, dressed in her school uniform that suited her just as good as a potato bag would (the mustard yellow blouse in combination with the light brown tie made the whole view even worse), smiling bright into the camera - so bright the braces were visible - as she noticed having a closer look at it.

_ Well who says I cannot be as happy as I was at that time? Dad wouldn't want me to cloister myself away..._

Suddenly Molly knew exactly what she would be doing on her free day tomorrow.

_ ... or more precisely... today_, she corrected herself when checking her watch.

The album landed on the floor with an offended _thud_.

_ Bollocks to that!_ the young pathologist triumphed. _I will be the bloody happiest person on earth by tomorrow or so help me._


	3. It just keeps getting better

**Notes: SORRY for the delay I got ill and university started again last week and ugh I just had no time to write. ._.**

**One thing I wanted to mention as well: I now use the German variant of quotation marks since Open Office ALWAYS changed the english ones back to the German version and I tried to alter my settings to english but it didn't work so don't get confused by this „". **

**WARNING: Molly is becoming a part of big events. This chapter contains indication and short depiction of child abuse!**

Molly almost fell out of her bed when her alarm clock went off. She then spent a while searching for her favourite clothes and was happy they weren't in the washer (as usually when she felt like wearing them). Taking a quick look at herself in the mirror she decided not to put up any makeup.

Toby was already waiting for her in the kitchen. Ruffling the cat's fur she listened to the teardrops dripping down on the roof, quietly tapping at the window. She feeded Toby and made herself a coffee and ate some cornflakes even though she wasn't hungry at all.

When she felt Toby rubbing his head against her ankles, she smiled down to him._ I love you, too. _she said with a giggle. He answered with a satisfied purr.

About an hour later Molly was seated in a club chair, her best friend Valerie towering behind her, running her fingers through Molly's long hair and muttering things Molly couldn't (and honestly didn't even want to) catch. Valerie's hair salon basically stood for everything the young pathologist wasn't fond of: particular decoration matching the gaudy wallpaper, though without giving the whole salon a chintzy look, probably more mirrors and illumination than in the whole baroque chateau Versailles, and ineffable dear furnishings. Valerie's appearance, especially the bold short haircut and the intensive red colour of the hair-ends was totally corresponding to the whole atmosphere created in there.

Val and Molly knew each other for quite a long time now - to be exact they knew each other since their first day in school. They got into a conversation because they carried the same schoolbag. Since that day Valerie had changed a lot, Molly just a little. However this luckily never had any effect on their friendship.

Valerie looked at her in the mirror she sat opposite to. "You know, Mols, the last time I saw you was ages ago", she stressed the word ages, let out a frustrated sigh and pointed at Mollys hair. "And **that** is the result. What am I supposed to do with your hair? And when exactly was the last time you've seen the interior of a beauty salon?" Molly felt offended (she did definetly not look **that** bad, even though she had to admit her hair was stressed and lifeless) - but blameable as well. It was true, she hadn't seen Valerie in a while nor had she made any effort to change that soon. And moreover - the reason she was here today... was selfish as well, she was here all for herself, not for visiting Val. Not for having a nice chat. She shrank a bit. This was not how she had imagined this day to start off.

The young woman felt her cheeks blush and knowing Valerie would see it by looking at her reflection made it even worse. Molly suddenly wished she had went to another beauty salon only to avoid the upcoming conversation. She was such a lousy friend. Was to call herself Val's best friend overexaggerated? Val was her best friend. Simply because she didn't have any other persons which she would dare to call _her friends_. But Valerie surely knew abundant enough people that could replace Molly in less than a second.

This day wasn't running properly...

Turning around to face Val she read something written in her face which at first totally perplexed her – _why would she look so pleased when she should be furious about Molly's poor social skills and her presviously mentioned unreliability as a friend?_\- until she understood. Valerie thoroughly enjoyed this. How come? Molly would find out soon enough.

It only took Valerie about an hour to cut Molly's split ends and add some light brown highlights to her hair so it looked a bit more glossy and neater than before. Molly was very thankful that Val wasn't resentful at all, even though she kept her in suspense on why she was full of go. Val moved her hands to underline everything she said and couldn't keep them still for a second. Despite the broad hint Molly first noticed the ring when Val was almost finished with her masterpiece, as she called it herself. Before Molly could even open her mouth to say something, Valerie affirmed what she was about to ask her.

„Yeah, we're engaged."

Molly complimented on the wonderfully beautiful ring, joked on Val's luck with men (she swallowed her own solitude – she would not ruin her best friend's great day and grieve over her own problems), and happily agreed on being Val's chief bridesmaid at their wedding. She straightened herself automatically as if someone's just delegated the responsibility for world peace on her small shoulders. She knew she would do the best she could for Valerie. And her friend knew as well. For a while they were chatting like two school girls again, girls who weren't afraid of the future and didn't care for liability at all. Val told her everything in detail. How unexpected his proposal was. And so romantic. And how she would have invited Molly for tea today, since she wanted to tell her about it – however this wasn't necessary anymore. Molly tried not to redden again.

Val and Tony. Molly didn't know him well... she practically didn't know him at all. She's met him once: A nice, gentleman, a bit nuts, just as Valerie herself. They were a perfect couple, she'd noticed right from the beginning. But Molly never accompanied them whenever they invited her for dinner or a trip. She had nobody to bring along and being the awkward third wheel was no option either. So she spent her evenings alone with Toby and a bowl of ice cream instead. Molly knew she would be a stranger at the wedding... between all the family members and other friends and acquaintances ... but she couldn't refuse Val's request to be the bridesmaid since she was feeling quilty on the one hand and on the other it meant a lot to her. Usually people never entrusted Molly with such things, she simply wasn't good at presenting herself to a bigger group of people. And communicating with strangers was the worst of all. But when it came to Val, all that didn't matter to her. It was all about being a good friend.

She would be at two weddings in such a short period. She'd need two beautiful – and therefore doubtlessly unaffordable dresses.

After they'd bid goodbye Molly, deeply absorbed in thought, almost mechanically headed to a boutique on the other side of the street. She knew the offered attire was very expensive but since this was (or was supposed to be) her special day and Molly was generally very moneysaving, she decided she could once spent her money on something nice. And why not laying out her saved money for gorgeous gowns?

When Molly entered, the assistant only gave her a quick, almost annoyed look – yet when the pathologist asked her for advise she immediately rushed into the stock and came back laden with a dozen dresses and a waterfall of words drazzled from her painted lips. Molly fell in love at first glance with a bright yellow dress with a light flower print.

The assistant held it out before Molly to check whether it would suit her and nodded approvingly.

„Yeah that one'd please your legs." she told her. Molly didn't quite know if that was meant to be a compliment. „Wait a second I think we've also had some accessories for this one." And with that she hurried back to the stock.

Molly tried it on. When she turned around to check her appearance in the mirror she had to suppress a scream of surprise. The look was jaw-dropping. Right in that moment the assistant came back - only to rearrange Molly's hair style with a huge yellow topknot. But Molly didn't say a word – she could decide against this kind of accessories later if she didn't like it. To her amazement, she loved it so much that she even kept it on when trying on the other dresses. In the end, none of them were a quarter as good as the yellow gown. So her choice for the outfit to wear at the first – therefore John's - wedding was clear. Now she only needed a dress worth a chief bridesmaid. She asked the young woman if they had any for such occasions instock. She affirmed and lead Molly to another room at the back of the store.

When they heard the store doorbell ring Molly was left alone with a „I think you know best what you are looking for, excuse me for a minute.". Molly glanced over the partly ostentatious toggery. There was not a single dress came into question. None of them were qualified for a chief bridesmaid.

The one on the left with the long train? She could and most definetly would trip over it any second.

That one with the risqué neckline? Too flashy.

Molly shook her head as if fending off bothersome thoughts. When she headed back to the main store she slowed her paces since the voices that reached her ears seemed a bit too loud for a regular consultation. The sharp tone in their voices made it clear that they were arguing. She tried to inconspicuously announce her coming by making some noise when she deliberately bumped into some cartons. (To cough slightly would have looked as if she had been listening for quite a while so she rather made a fool of herself by acting this way.) The shop assistant and the other person – a rather good looking young woman – eyed her as if she was a pathetic little creature that got lost somehow.

„Let's hope you didn't break something." said the saleswoman and went to check if everything was okay, while the other woman snorted despicably but with a sovereign smile playing upon her lips that made Molly blush, even though she knew she'd done this on purpose. If only she had a bit more courage to stand up for herself and her own actions in awkward situations. But she kept her mouth shut, avoided to look the two beautiful women in the eyes again, payed for the dress and the topknot she was still wearing and rushed out of the shop without looking back.

When it got dark outside Molly made herself some hot chocolate and cuddled with Toby. The day had been disastrous after her short shopping tour. Lestrade had called her to tell her she was desperately needed, they had found the dead bodies of twins that were missing since last week and they had to find out more about their death as another child was reported missing today and there could be a similarity between these cases.

Molly was shocked about the condition of the children's corpses. She'd seen bad things during her time in St. Bart's but this outsripped everything she could have imagined. When recording all the visible physical wounds – some superficial, some very large – she really had to fight against the urge to throw up. Both kids – the boy and the girl – had been abused physically. She could find bruises, burns (probably cigarette burns), broken ribs and evidence of acid in their mouths and throats. The kids had been forced to swallow an acidic liquid and died while in pain.

Molly did her best and recorded every detail that could be helpful, submitted her report to the next person responsible and locked herself away in her so she could let out her grief and the tears that she'd been fighting to hold back. There was no need to do so any longer. The young pathologist always followed her own set rules. First of all: Never get emotionally involved. But these were only children, not more than 12 years old. They would have had their whole lifetime ahead and in only a short week someone took their existence. Relentlessly anger slashed itself a way to Molly's mind.

If she would get hold of someone like that, someone who did such things – such a... such a...

Molly couldn't even put in words what she thought of that person. He or she wasn't only a murderer or torturer. It was a sicko, a perv, a slaughterer. And if they'd find him – if Sherlock found him – he would let him feel the same pain those children went through... **that** she was sure of.

Toby purring in her lap brought her thoughts back to the present but she couldn't forget the dead eyes, peering accusingly in the distance. The occurrences of the day collapsed on Molly and she fell asleep on the couch, the still steaming mug forgotten on the coffee table, holding Toby close and slipping from one nightmare to another.

**Additional Note : Mycroft will appear in the next chapter and I promise it won't take me that long again to publish it! :)**

**Thank you for patiently sticking with me.**

**Also thanks a lot for the kind reviews - they're highly appreciated. (:**


	4. Flower Metaphors

**Notes: I finally made it and finished this chapter. Hope you enjoy it. :)**

**Oh and something I wanted to point out as well: I get really confused over comma placement in English, since in German we really put commas EVERYWHERE and I'm never really sure when and where to put commas in English. I just decided I will kind of stick to the German rules, so don't marvel if there's a comma that doesn't necessarily have to be there. :D**_

The next days came and went without any mentionable occurences or significant changes – she was still trying to forget the night when she had to autopsy the twins and **luckily **it emerged that the other missing boy was found only a few hours later at a bus stop by two patrolling policemen, apparently he had ran away after a fight with his parents and was unharmed - and at no notice the week of John's wedding broached with Molly still not knowing who could accompany her. Mary wanted to know why she hasn't asked Sherlock yet they'd_ „be a gorgeous couple"_ but Molly only rejected cordially, frantically trying to ignore John's intuitive look.

Molly called Val to ask for advice but got an invitation for a spontaneous lunch and some coffee instead. Grateful for every kind of distraction she could get, Molly immediately accepted.

They met in a café which they had used to visit frequently in the past. After listening to Molly's monologue Val offered Molly to ask a certain Tom – most likely a friend of Tony since the pathologist's never heard of him before – if he would like to accompany her, and with a cheeky grin she added: „He broke up with his ex girlfriend not that long ago. She cheated on him. I'm pretty sure he's searching for some kind of distraction as well." Molly smiled slightly. She didn't want to be someone's distraction. She pictured herself offering him some help and comfort, growing attached to him, only to find out that he didn't feel the same. That she was only a part of his life as a pastime - but she would never mean anything. _She wouldn't count. Once again_.

„Molly..." Val said with a low voice as if she didn't want anybody in the café to listen to their conversation. „If you don't get your ass up and actually meet people, talk to others, I'm afraid you'll never find what you're looking for." _Ah. She's been reading her mind again like she always used to._

Molly looked up from her caffè latte. „What if I myself don't even know... w-what I'm looking for?" , she answered hesitantly.

Val gave Molly her best I'm-not-taking-any-of-that-shit-today look and continued: „I don't even know what you're waiting for, honey! Look at you. Remember that time in senior classes when people were referring to you as the school's wallflower?" Molly nodded. „Well that time's lying far behind you. _**You've changed**_!" Valerie affirmed her with such a definiteness that made clear she wouldn't tolerate any contradiction. Molly nodded again but didn't give any answer even though she knew Val was waiting for her to say something.

„What if I'm neither a wallflower any longer but I'm still not a particularly beautiful flower either?"

Val shook her head in disbelief. „Listen to me, Mols: Real flowers grow more slowly than weed. Give it some time."

„Okay then", Molly began with a croaky voice filled with despair. „Why haven't I found someone yet? Why am I always the last one to achieve something?"

Val looked at her implacably.

„How long exactly do I still have to wait _**until finally someone has the graciousness to let me become a part of their life**_?" The last part came out harsher than intended. She tried to repress the tears her eyes were filling with.

Val rolled her eyes. „Maybe if you'd just step into the sunlight instead of hiding in the shadows someone could finally cast an eye at you." She smiled lovingly and reached for Molly's face to wipe away the single tear that was rolling down her cheek. All of a sudden her face took on a more serious expression. „And please stop crying – you do know very well I'm not good at comforting people." Molly snorted with laughter and Valerie joined in.

Even though Val was attempting to raise topics that would distract Molly from her deep sadness, both of them could feel the cold atmosphere throughout their whole conversation.

When they finally left the restaurant and their company parted at the next tube station, Valerie turned around a last time. „Mols? What about Tom now?"

Molly shook her head. „Not interested." But surrender has never been an option to her best friend.

„You sure?"

„Pretty sure." the young pathologist endorsed with emphasis. Val shrugged.

„Tell me when you change your mind."

Molly only smirked at that, fairly certain she wouldn't do so. While Val went to take the stairs down to the underground, Molly headed toward the exact opposite direction.

„Oh Molly and one more thing - " Val cat-called at her. She turned around. „No more flower metaphors, yeah?" Molly showed her broadest grin.

„Promise!" She yelled back but wasn't quite sure if Valerie heard her. She turned around again to go home and get ready for a night shift in the morgue, when with a terrifyingly loud clap of thunder the sky darkened and it started pouring. _Not that as well_, she thought and ran through the emptying streets of London.

It was already past midnight when the rhythmic knocking of heavy rain drops at the windows stopped and the lab filled with an almost uncomfortable silence. Since Molly didn't have much to do this night, she decided to use the time she had now for the hated reporting and archiving, as well as rearranging some old documents and files.

Loaded with five bulging document files, Molly rushed through the empty halls of St. Bart's. Since her small office that rather reminded of a converted broom closet than an actual bureau (that's why she never spent much time in there) was locked, Molly searched for a way to put down her pile of work for a minute, without leaving them on the dirty floor, and dig the keys up from her trouser pocket. When she looked down to her feet she noticed tiny puddles on the floor as if someone's brought a drenched umbrella in there and all the rain droplets that have gathered on the surface have slowly dripped to the ground. The puddles drew a path to the morgue that Molly's left not a couple of minutes ago, right before she headed to the archive.

While incessantly watching the doors that led to the mortuary, she somehow managed to unlock her office and entered, only to drop the files on the next best table and then return to the morgue.

_It doesn't make any sense, I'm alone here ...well, except for Adrian but he's for sure taking a nap, as always during his night shifts. _

Who else would have access to St. Bart's in the middle of the night? Nobody who wasn't supposed to be here ever came in by this time, thanks to the night guard at the main entrance.

_...except for Sherlock_.

But what could he possibly be doing here? Molly hasn't heard of any case, that would be worth his attention, and hasn't autopsied any corpse he would want to have a look at for scientific reasons...and when she'd told him she wouldn't let him see the corpses of the dead twins out of respect for their family, he didn't quite understand why she was so affected. Their debate ended in harsh words that hurt Molly more than Sherlock. But surely he wouldn't be trying to sneak about in St. Bart's only to do what Molly told him _**not to do**_. Besides, the twins weren't here any longer, to Molly's great relief because she still had a hard time dealing with the dead eyes that followed her everywhere at night. Solid labouring in the morgue during her night shift with two dead children, locked away in a cold storage, who somewhat haunted her mind? Fat chance!

Molly dashed to the mortuary and had her mouth already wide open to hold a speech on morality and respect, when she recognised the person standing next to the autopsy table. And it wasn't Sherlock. So she shut her mouth again, only to open it once more, speechless and baffled.

„Good evening, Doctor Hooper" the tall man said, carefully studying her face.

After a few seconds of inappropriate staring, Molly's mind reminded her that she was expected to give an answer to that, but she couldn't quite focus, so the only thing she brought out was his name.

„Mycroft?" she asked, still slightly deranged. „I-I didn't... expect you to..."

„I know-", he interrupted her. His face didn't express what the tone in his voice suggested: A little annoyance, as if she was too slow for his wanting. Molly felt her cheeks heating and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She tried to think of any rational reasons for his visit. She hadn't seen him since the day Sherlock faked his death. Mycroft was also the one to identify the dead man they found as a certain Jim Moriarty. Molly remembered exactly what it felt like, seeing him – her ex-almost-boyfriend how she called him privately – the one who was responsible for so many bad things that had happened to Sherlock, John and other innocent persons. And things that could have happened. He, who had killed people. And she'd almost slept with him. He's been the last man she'd dated, not only because for a long time she was still infatuated with Sherlock, but also because she realised how little she was able to properly judge people. And that was a weakness that she could not afford. Not when she literally played a part in the life of Sherlock Holmes, even if it was only a small part. Kind of like a minor role in a play. Always there, not of importance for the main plot until she could be of use – either for the good or the bad guy.

„I am here, Doctor Hooper, because I would like to perceive the autopsy report on the case of the dead twins.", the elder Holmes said, retracting Molly from her thoughts.

Molly blinked twice. Has she heard right? „_**The autopsy report**_?", she repeated disbelieving.

Mycroft didn't answer. His blue eyes pierced her. „Yes, as I have said", he confirmed, stressing each word as if he was talking to a nit. Molly knew there was more than that. He wouldn't have made all the way to St. Bart's himself when he clearly had more important things to do and more considerable appointments with persons of high position. Did he truly believe he could convince her of everything he said, without her questioning his statements? Well if so, he most definetly was mistaken.

Molly thought about it for a while. As far as she understood what Sherlock had told her a long time ago – Mycroft was an important man in the british government. And John, listening to their conversation, had tossed in that he was dangerous and had warned her urgently to stay away from him. And when she thought back of Sherlock's fake suicide and how Mycroft had handled everything, how he'd almost meticulously organized every detail, from the fake witnesses to the fake ambulance, that was when she realised _**how powerful**_ he was.

Her father had always quoted Edward Abbey, one of his favourite authors.

„_**Power is always dangerous. Power attracts the worst and corrupts the best."**_

Molly trusted Sherlock, and she trusted John. She didn't ask any further questions and accepted their warnings. It was not like she was afraid of Mycroft Holmes, since she didn't believe that Sherlock's older brother would want to do her any harm, she didn't judge him as a bad person. Though she did not expect him to be a good person either. It might be a prejudice she held against politicians, yet the pathologist couldn't imagine a single political leader and his assistants to be other than manipulative.

Adding one thought to another, she drew the conclusion that he had other reasons to come to her. The authopsy was clearly a pretence.

No. She knew Sherlock all too well and she could see the resemblance. Mycroft's behaviour, especially the dark glint in his eyes as he looked at her from across the room reminded her of Sherlock. The only difference there was, was that Mycroft knew how to charm people, how to beguile others so they thought that his intentions were clear to them. Sherlock wasn't interested in manipulating others if they told him what he wanted to know. Mycroft whereas wanted to maintain a certain kind of superiority without giving away his thoughts, as Sherlock always did. Mycroft didn't have to impress people with his mind, he did so with his pure presence.

Molly straightened her shoulders and looked at him intensely. She wasn't a means to an end.

„Well clearly you could have gotten the autopsy report without personally showing up here...I mean – you surely have enough contacts and underlings to that for you. You don't need me to get them."

Now it was him who couldn't quite process what he's just been told, the young pathologist was able to read the surprised look on his face before the government official quickly remembered to maintain a blank expression. He knew he had completely underestimated her and would've not expected her to be this resolute. But Molly wasn't finished yet. She had had a bad day – **no**, she had had a range of bad days.

And you better not mess with Molly when she's in a _really bad mood_. „ And I'm afraid I cannot hand them to you. They're confidential. You should know that." With that she swirled around and held the door open, looking at Mycroft, who didn't move or say a thing.

„Good night, Mr. Holmes.", she said firmly. He tilted his head slightly and smirked, to Molly's astonishment.

„I see, I was mistaken to believe you would not question my actions and request. I formally apologise for my discourtesy." He watched her accurately and studied her reactions. She was unsure what to think of him. She couldn't assess his next steps, what gave him an edge.

„But the truth is, I am not here because of the reports, as your clearly figured out yourself." Molly waited, unsure what was coming next. Mycroft chose his next words carefully.

„I am here to make a more... personal request." Molly furrowed her brow.

„And what would that be?" she asked, half curious, half hesitant.


	5. Someone's toy

**Note**: I can't even express how sorry I am for being **this late**...

Seriously, University kills me and I've had some private disasters as well so... this took me AGES.

Spelling errors etc on my account, and as always I hope you enjoy.

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„And what would that be?"

A long and uncomfortable silence followed her question. Mycroft seemed to falter, or at least that was how Molly interpreted his silentness.

Once again, Molly pondered. What could he possibly mean? His piercing gaze made her feel even more uncomfortable than she already did.

Mycroft, leaning on his still dripping wet umbrella, bend his head and frowned. To Molly it seemed as if he was just as confused as her, and she couldn't quite process that fact. If a man like Mycroft Holmes himself behaved this weirdly, then something had to be terribly wrong.

_Whatever it is that makes him act like that, it has to be something of greater importance. But why doesn't he say a word?_ , she wondered. _Is it a dead-end situation but he's clinging to the last hope ?_

Her mind created the most incredible, almost apocalyptic scenarios.

„As I know you are well aware of...", Mycrofts voice brought Molly back to reality.

He had a troubled look on his face and was clearly searching for the right words to express whatever his concern was. Molly couldn't remember having ever seen him this... _disperced_... not even when he knew he was responsible for making Sherlocks suicide the perfect, inscrutable fake. He had handled everything in a nonchalant manner, never hesitating, always knowing which methods would provide the best results.

Molly felt a knot in her stomach.

Everything about Mycroft looked a bit out of order, now that she thought about it. A few strands of hair were out of place, he didn't maintain the blank expression anymore which he'd worn when she had entered the lab only a few minutes earlier. Even his blue tie was loosened, exposing his throat, which made him appear a bit more vulnerable to her, since she's never seen a single part of his whole appearance, and especially his suits and ties, even an ounce away from perfection.

In less than a minute the whole atmosphere in here had changed, Molly realised that - and it didn't make it any better. She was still waiting for an explanation.

„Doctor Hooper, if you could focus on our conversation instead of my exterior, please."

Molly blushed. She'd forgotten for a second that he was just as observative as his younger brother. She murmured an excuse, but he didn't seem to care, and that was a reaction totally unlike him. Molly would have expected him to be annoyed by her somewhat unsteady behavior, since that was also the impression he gave her when they'd been working together.

But in fact - he didn't even seem to be any other than exhausted. She'd got to know him as an orderly and focussed person, but also someone whose patience could be stretched very easily if people questioned his decisions or made mistakes.

_...or people that get distracted easily and are preoccupied in thoughts all the time..._ she added notionally.

/

Mycroft watched her every reaction. She seemed lost in thought, which did not surprise him, he knew her all too well – or more precisely, he could read her like an open book. Which, by all means, made her what came closest to call it_ friend_. Even though, of course it was no friendship. Mycroft Holmes did not need any friends. If any, he only needed domestics, people who would be good enough to do some leg work, since he detested to leave his office for any other than a meeting.

Doctor Hooper was not one of those persons who (to his mind pointlessly) tried to hide their emotions behind a wall of serious demeanour. And most of them, giving regard to his great mind that had no difficulties in tearing these walls down, failed miserably. He also detested these kinds of people, they seemed to ignore the fact that he would always be the one to vanquish such little contentions, even if they were hold only on a spiritual level.

She was one of a handful of people who Mycroft Holmes would (yet merely in case of emergency) rely on...

_would trust them to do as I told them_.

...because he knew what to expect. He could properly judge every detail about their methods and their practices, so he was always aware of who could be the perfect pet to do a certain job for him. There has not been a single occurence that had turned out differently than he had planned.

And still...

Molly Hooper was indeed unlike every other person he got to know over the many years of working for the British Government. Always wanting to impose others, yet she did not behave like that at all. Neither did she wear high-cost (_she cannot afford it_), never did she put on descreet yet charming make up (_she did not have the time_) nor has he ever seen her being... _ordinary_.

She simply did not fit in - she was clumsy, a bit timid and on top of that fairly bemused. On the other side she was, not only according to what Sherlock had already told him, but also what he had figured out himself, the most reliable, cooperative and in an emergeny also very purposeful woman he knew.

It was some kind of a paradox, everything about her, that he had not solved yet, and even though he could read her – he did not understand what he saw. It made him feel weak and a little less superior, a feeling that he has rarely ever felt before. But this only urged him to figure it out in the future but now was not the time for that. He had other things to do. The Japanese delegate was waiting for him and he was wasting his precious time.

_... in a **mortuary.**_

She still seemed a bit puzzled. He did not exactly know what she was thinking of but he would find it out anyway, so that was not of major importance for him when he began to explain.

„John Watson is about to marry a certain Mary Morstan this week, and according to the information I received you are invited as well, am I right?" It was a rethorical question. He knew he was right. Molly looked at him, with growing confusion drawn on her face.

„My brother, Sherlock, was asked to be John's best man. I can only assume how much it pains him to attend his...", Mycroft cleared his throat and searched for the right words to continue. „... best friend's wedding. It must be even worse to him, to be burdened this way in addition."

He looked right up at her. „I want you to accompany him."

/

Molly's mouth dropped open. Had Mycroft just implied what she had immediately thought of? The way he had expressed it made her shoulders drop and raise her brows in astonishment. Sherlock... had feelings for John? That changed her whole perspective of all that had happened between her and him. Of course he wouldn't love her the way she'd loved him.

Mycroft's blue eyes were piercing her, holding her gaze and forcing her to wait for what would come next. And that was the moment when she knew that _he knew_.

„I want you to accompany him."

Molly's ears were ringing. So this was it. He wanted her to be Sherlock's diversion, knowing exactly what she had felt for Sherlock.

She heard herself muttering something like _I can't,_ then turning around to leave the lab, she found herself shattered inside. Not even a man like Mycroft Holmes would ever see anything else in her than a useful toy to play with whenever he feels like it.

„He needs you." He cat-called at her when she already held the door wide open so she could leave. He found find the way out of St Bart's on his own.

„It is not like I wouldn't need anyone.", she said softly but also sorrowful. She turned her head and looked back at him. He hadn't moved one inch. „And I won't be the one to fake happiness only so that Sherlock gets through this evening easier. And later on he will be suffering as well – do you expect me to dry-nurse him for the next days, if not even weeks?"

Mycroft didn't answer her question, he only wrinkled his nose and shifted weight from one leg to another. She could see this was his way of showing that he felt uncomfortable in this conversation. From the beginning on, he'd surely known that she wouldn't doubtlessly do that for him. She understood him, she also comprehended his reasoned submission. But she wouldn't do it. She had her own problems, and Sherlock was still one of them, so she would not waste her time on him any more as far back as she had.

Molly closed the door behind her without politely bowing out. And when she arrived back home she searched for her smartphone and messaged Val one question: _Is this guy you mentioned before . Tom was his name? - still free to accompany me at John's wedding?_

She would rather take the chance to become someone's new favourite diversion instead of staying Sherlock's there-is-no-alternative diversion. Molly went to bed and fell asleep immediately.

Val's answer came in the early morning while the young pathologist was still dreaming a strange dream, Molly's smartphone display was flashing through the gloominess of her bedroom, saying: _Sure. Thought you weren't interested? ;)_

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_Additional notes: _This probably didn't turn out the way you expected but since Molly and Mycroft are two very different characters I feel like this story just needs to continue a bit more slowly than fics for other pairings. Thank you for staying with me anyway :)


	6. The Wedding

Note: This chapter's all about Molly and Tom. Hope you enjoy nevertheless. We'll get more of Mollcroft in the next chapters. It's about time to get the really interesting plot started. :)

Sorry for possible spelling errors etc...

Once again thank you for your patience and for the nice reviews I receive. I genuinely hope you stick with this story (:

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John's wedding was an absolutely fabulous evening. At least for Molly.

Tom, as it turned out, was a very quiet but clever and gentle man, an absolute opposite to Sherlock when it came to his character, even though his looks (Molly tried so hard to avoid thinking about this fact too much) were almost equal to her bygone infatuation. Tom also seemed to like Molly very much and he was not a shy man to try and hide his feelings for her. On the contrary: He showed his admiration fairly and squarely.

On the first day they met, the two of them were a bit concerned they might not have much in common and might find no topic to talk about (which was most of all _Molly's_ biggest problem when she was going out with men). But fate seemed - for once - to be on the pathologist's side and after the first few minutes she grew a bit more confident and openly talked about herself. She didn't even notice at first that she was talking so much that he had no possibility to reveal much of his own person. Molly only realised at the end of their rendezvous in the very same café she's been to with Val not that long ago. When she began to apologise, he only stopped her with a wave of his hand and told her he'd had had a wonderful afternoon and listening to her little stories has been a pleasure for him. Molly could feel the heat rising from her stomach, even now, when she only thought about how soft his eyes and sincere his smile had seemed.

Their second date, only one day had passed since their first meeting, but none of them two had wanted to wait longer to meet the other again, was a bit of a humiliation for Molly, even though Tom had assured her a hundred times that it wasn't.

It began with the young waitress that tried very best to get Tom's attention while Molly only sat there in resignation and didn't know how to behave or what to say. Even though Molly considered the waitress much more beautiful than herself, she found Tom's eyes lingering on her the whole evening, sometimes a secret smile on his lips. Today he took the chance to talk about his past, and she listened. He had a very nice voice indeed. Molly studied his features and felt caught when he asked her if he'd have a spot somewhere. She didn't reply, but lowered her eyes to study her knees instead, when he carefully reached out for her left hand lying on the table and held it for a while, not saying a word and merely smiling knowingly. After they'd eaten they ordered some extra wine and started a new conversation. Molly inwardly cringed a little when he asked her for about profession.

„I... I work with... dead people.", she sad, a bit lame.

He looked at her in silence for a couple of seconds and broke out into laughter. „For a second I just imagined you as a gruesome assassin but I guess that's not what you meant by that."

His nonchalance made her laugh as well. „No... no, no...", Molly held her aching sides and tried to steady her voice. „I mean... I work in a morgue."

„So a pathologist, hm?" He seemed interested. Not deterred at all.

Just the very moment she wanted to explain in detail what she does for a living, the incredible persistent waitress came back and failed miserably again trying to catch some of Tom's attention that was solely focussed on Molly.

When he drove her home and accompanied her to her door, he leaned down to kiss her, but held still right before his lips would meet hers. „You look particularly stunning tonight, Molly." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, Molly didn't even remember when he'd put his hand there, because the only thing she has had on her mind for days was the sensation of feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers in the dark night, his kiss soft and yet demanding more, how his other hand had held her close to him. And the sudden solitude when he broke the kiss and wished her a good night, drove away in his car and Molly was left alone on the steps to her door. But when her head hit the pillow that night, she had no nightmares and she didn't feel alone, knowing that they would meet again.

This went on for a week when all at once – _When did the time go by so fast?_ \- it was the big day. John's big day, to be exactly, but Molly felt it was a big day for her as well. Tom and her had been going out for only a week but Molly had fallen head over heels into love with him, and ensuing from his little affections she guessed he felt the same. Yesterday they had been talking about their encounters, using the word relationship for the very first time. Molly didn't know much about functioning relationships, but she hoped this would be the one to last.

Val had only said: _I knew it. But you never listen to. Girl, I'm giving you important advice. If you and I'd be left alone on a deserted island – even then you ain't gonna listen to me, right?_

Molly was glad she finally gave in to Val's hooking, though sometimes she wondered if Mycroft's visit was the actual trigger.

At John's wedding, when she introduced Tom to all her friends she could practically feel some people's glances, they gave her chills. Molly felt very uncomfortable around strangers and she knew that they were talking. He was so good looking, especially today in his superb tuxedo, while she, in spite of the fact that she was wearing the lovely buttercup yellow dress, only looked like..._ Molly_.

Mary had assured her that she looked fabulous and that Tom seemed to be very nice, which Molly confirmed. But Mary didn't have much time to chat so Molly was left alone for a second while Tom was engaged in a conversation by Sherlock.

_Uh-oh._

Molly took in a deep breath. She had to calm down, there was no way Sherlock would publicly offend or attack her new boyfriend the way he often did... would he?

When they were told to take up their places, since it was time for the best man's speech (_Oh dear_, Molly thought while glimpsing at Sherlock who looked unfamiliarly tense today).

After the strange afternoon (Molly figured out later that there was some kind of crime going on that Sherlock and John wanted to cover up to avoid a panic) and when the _real_ party began, Tom asked her for a dance and with a slight blush, since she wasn't a good dancer, she took the hand he offered her and let herself be quided through the crowd. When he put his hand on her waist and clothed his face in smiles, she didn't care for the others, the chattering didn't matter, Sherlock didn't matter and there was only Tom, who gently guided her moves.

The only thing that made her break eye contact with him was when Sherlock rushed out of the hall, she could've sworn he'd had a sorrowful look on his face.

She remembered what Mycroft had told her.

„Sorry...", she whispered and let go of Tom - and ran after Sherlock. She caught him walking down the path that led to the cottage, alone and with his collar pulled up. She knew that he did that when he wanted to appear untouchable. Yet, when she thought of Mycroft's strange behaviour and how hurried he had tried to leave the event, she knew that there were more emotions torturing him than he'd ever let anyone know.

„Sherlock?", she asked shyly, though she was sure he'd heard her advancing.

„I'm fine, Molly.", he said, without looking at her, striding along and obviously not interested in a cheer-up. „Go back and enjoy that evening. You deserve a bit of happiness." Molly arched a brow, even whilst he could not see her.

„And you don't?"

„I don't enjoy gatherings as such."

„Because you feel like an outsider? How'd you think I feel all the time?", she continued. He snorted disdainful. She stopped and wanted him to face her, yet he kept walking and only turned around to add one thing instead of answering her question.

„Goodbye, Molly. Present John my compliments."

Molly went back to the cottage, where Tom was waiting for her at the entrance, offering her his jacket, since it was a cold May night. She gladly accepted his offer. It smelled exactly like him and calmed her agitation. She told him what had just happened. He only nodded briefly, there was nothing he could add.

When it was past 3 in the morning, the two of them drove to Molly's flat and immediately fell asleep in bed. She hadn't even bothered to remove her make up and only exchanged the pretty dress with a simple pair of pyjamas, he fell asleep as he was, he only took off his shoes. And since Molly had been wearing his tuxedo jacket, he didn't have to take that one off.

Molly was a restless sleeper and accidently woke him up several times, and when Tom had had enough of her straddling, he locked her in his arms until she lied still on his torso.

When Molly awoke the next morning, Tom was gone, having left a little breakfast for her and a note that said: I'm sorry I couldn't stay. Will call you later. I love you.

And despite the fact that he'd written I love you, which was clearly supposed to make her happy, she could only think of Sherlock... and his goodbye. It didn't take her much time to come to the conclusion she would have to pay Mycroft a visit. She also felt like she it owed Mycroft, he'd asked her for her help - and she'd just rejected him what he obviously needed. And now the only thing she could do... was to help him watch over Sherlock. Molly finally felt that Mycroft hadn't been exaggerating – when it came to John, his brother acted unpredictable.

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Additional note: And yes, this is a Mollcroft fanfiction. You'll be awarded with more of them next time, promise!


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